Shora: I have officially given up on J/JVJ…Les Mis paring for all of you RENT-heads out there who have no idea what i'm talking about…Anywho…this is a MarkxOFC fic..i can understand if you all don't want to read this…im not to into OC's myself..but ill give it a shot!
Simone glanced down at the bright pink paper in her hand. The thing screamed, "I'm lonely, I need to be fucked, and I need a room mate!" It didn't say that. All it said was: "ROOMMATE WANTED! Must be clean." and it gave the number and the address. She took a deep breath and walked up the stairs.
Roger glanced at the flyer in his hand, styled after his old band posters. After the huge top line, in fine print, was: "Must be clean." He glanced up at Mark, still disbelieving that the glasses-clad nerd didn't trust him around drugs. He kept clean at the CBGB's right?
"Mark, do you think that this is going to work?" he glanced at the scrawny blonde who had splayed himself across their metal table, pushing their one cord onto the floor.
"It's how we found Collins, right? How we found Maureen, right? We will find someone." Mark said, filming their ceiling for no good reason. He panned over to Roger, who cut his hair, and was sitting on their couch, near their stove, playing "Your eye's." for the onehundreth time. Roger was just about to retort that Maureen became a lesbian and Collins moved out within 2 years, but his comment was interrupted by a loud knock.
"See…we got a visitor." Mark said as he walked over to the door. He slid it back and locked eyes with the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. Her wide hazel eyes were framed by dark eyeliner, her pale skin studded with piercings. One in her lip, one in each eyebrow, and her ears were covered up and down, with stud, dangles, hoops, and jewels. She was wearing a faded black tank top, a fishnet shirt under it, a torn pair of black pants that clung to her legs tightly, and a worn, torn, faded, dirty pair of combat boots. She had a few dirty duffel bags on her, and an old beat-up guitar case.
"Is this the place that's offering a room?" She said, her voice deeper than mark expected it to be. His first thought was Angel, how she was a he, but there was no way that cleavage was fake.
"Y-yes, this is it." Mark said, his mouth catching up with his brain.
"Let her in Mark!" Roger shouted from the couch, standing up, guitar in hand.
"You play?" The girl said, her tongue piercing catching the light.
"Yeah..I used to be in a band." Roger said as he propelled himself over toward her, and held out his hand. "Roger Davis."
She merely grabbed his hand back; fingers calloused from the strings of her guitar. "Simone Alain." She said, walking into the loft, glancing about.
"Nice place."
"Yeah…place has seen a lot." Mark said, closing the door. He thought about the suicide, in the door right behind Simone, the time Mimi met Roger, through that window over there, the punches thrown during Roger's withdrawal, on this very floor.
She put down her duffel bags, the loud 'thunk's rousing dust from the floor. She set her guitar case down with care, unlike Roger, who just let it stay were it fell.
"We have a shower, complete with bathtub," he saw a pained expression cross Roger's face at the mention of April's death. Despite the fact that he was engaged to Mimi, he had lost one of his best friends when April killed herself. "Full kitchen, over there, illegal wood burning stove, and, if you stay, you room will be right here." Mark said, pointing to the door that still had April carved in it.
Simone walked up to the door, her long elegant finger tracing the name.
"Who's April?"
"My ex-girlfriend." Roger said, kicking to door open and flashing her his stage grin. She flashed hers back. Mark watched as Simone walked in, feet causing little clouds of dust to come up in her wake. She walked over to the window, brushed some of the grim off of it, and stared out at the view.
"Nice," She said, still lost in the view through the grimy windowpane. "How much will this cost me?"
"About five hundred a month." Roger said, leaning against the doorframe.
"When can I move in?" She said, drawing a design in the dust.
"Right now." Roger said, grabbing her bags and tossing them to her.
"Great." She said, turning to Mark, with the light framing her face and sillouting her just so.
"Hold right there." Mark said, as he ran over to his tri-pod, grabbed his camera, and shot her silhouette, telling her to turn to the window, and she complied. He felt his breath taken away for the second time that night. She was perfect. He turned off his camera, putting it under his arm.
"What was that about?" Simone asked, as she unpacked all sort of clothes that ranged from ultra-conservative, to things so skimpy even Mimi would think twice about wearing them, to a few corsets and bodices.
"I'm a filmmaker, right now I got a commission to do a film on depression, and the way you were looking out that window was just perfect." Mark said, watching as she pulled a broom out of her bag and started to sweep.
"Damn, where'd you get that bag, Marry Poppins?" Roger asked as he walked into the kitchen and came back with three beers. He gave one to Mark, tossed one to Simone, and kept one for himself.
"Yes. I call it my magical bag of Bottomlessness." She said, tossing the dust out of the floor-to-ceiling window. Now that the place was occupied, it seemed much more lively.
Mark glanced at his watch, and yawned when he saw the time. "I'm going to bed. See you both tomorrow." He said, walking to his room, where he collapsed on his bed, not even taking off his glasses, and slept, having sweet dreams about his new roommate.